


I don’t mind your company

by AlexandriaLynn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandriaLynn/pseuds/AlexandriaLynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a difficult time describing his feelings for john.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I don’t mind your company

**Author's Note:**

> So I am still learning the ropes on this fan fiction thing but i hope you enjoy!

“See there? Her arm, the left one was cut. Not the right. It was murder, not a suicide.” Sherlock announced to John and Lestrade merely seconds after first seeing the body. John, who was feeling quite proud of himself lately for picking up on Sherlock’s deduction techniques, was utterly lost. As was Lestrade.  The confusion must have been clear on each of their faces because Sherlock then heaved a big, exasperated sigh before continuing to explain.

                “Look there, on her desk. The mouse of her computer is on the left side, her pencils and pens have all been laid on the left side. She was left handed. Obviously.”

“She couldn’t have cut her left arm with her left hand.” Lestrade stated gruffly. Even as detective inspector, he was a bit slow when it came to these kinds of matters.

                The ever annoyed consulting detective rolled his eyes dramatically before walking everybody through the crime.

                “You said the girl killed herself which she obviously didn’t. All you have to see to know that it was murder is that she was left handed. She would have cut her right wrist. She’d have more control of the blade with her dominate hand and had she really wanted to die, the _right_ wrist would have been cut. Not the left. And look-” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of this coat. It was the suicide note. “- look here at the handwriting. Perfect. Not a smudge. If the person who wrote this was left handed, there would be smudges where their hand had brushed over the words they had already written.”     

                “Brilliant.” John breathed, positively astounded. The doctor never failed to be amazed by the incredible mind of Sherlock Holmes and he thought he caught a glimpse of the tall man with a delighted grin before he turned back to the body and continued.   

“My best guess at who the culprit was would be her friend Carrie. It was a bit of a giveaway with her now dating the boyfriend of the girl.” And then he striped the gloves off of his hands and started to walk out of the room, John following just after.  Sherlock called behind him to tell Lestrade he’d be at the yard tomorrow to tighten up any loose ends before he hailed a cab. He and John got in and made their way back to 221b Baker Street.  John looked over and took in the glorious sight of Sherlock. He was radiant and smug and proud and absolutely beautiful.

                John wasn’t gay. He simply appreciated how stunningly vibrant Sherlock looked after he finished a case, he was nearly as breathtaking as we was when he was consumed with thought in the middle of a case. Or when he was wrapped in only his bed sheet..... But john shook the thoughts away.  He was already making excuses for his mind going to such a place.

                _You just haven’t gotten off with anybody lately. You just need a good shag._

But he has been “needing a good shag” for two months and through five different girlfriends.  Lately his feeling had been getting worse. Every time Sherlock was around him he got nervous and sweaty. But no, he wasn’t gay. He was just… attracted to Sherlock.  He was attracted to his long, lean body. He was attracted to his soft dark hair and his bright exited eyes. He was attracted to his brilliant mind and his magnificent soul that he rarely let anybody see. John had a sudden epiphany right there in that cab. He wasn’t just attracted to him.

                John was in love with Sherlock Holmes.  For fucks sake, he was in love with Sherlock.

The realization made john draw in a deep, shaky breath and let his head fall back to his the seat of the cab. What was he going to do with this? He couldn’t be in love with Sherlock; Sherlock could never love him back. He could never love him back and with that thought echoing in his brain, John felt his eyes sting and a tear escaped through his closed lashes.

                “John?” Sherlock’s deep voice was full of concern which only made the pain in John’s chest amplify. He quickly tried to change the subject.

                “You were incredible today, absolutely amazing. Lestrade couldn’t have done it without you.” His voice was just a whisper, not trusting it to not shake at its regular volume.  But Sherlock wasn’t falling for it.

                “John what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” John turned his face away at the question before answering with a simple “Nothing.”

When the cab reached their destination, John paid the cabbie and rushed into the flat, hoping to get to his room before any more questions from Sherlock.  He made it all the way to the stairs before a hand griped his and sent electricity throughout the entirety of his body. His heart picked up tempo and he prayed to God that Sherlock didn’t have a good feel on his pulse.

“John, please tell me what’s wrong.”  

And then John did. Because why the hell not? He was going to get this over with and be done. He would take the rejection from Sherlock and move out. He could maybe get over it one day, maybe find himself a nice girl and they could get married and he could bury his feelings for his flatmate so deep that he would never think about it again. One thing he would _not_ do is stay here in this flat and pine over a man he could never have. John Watson wasn’t the pining kind. So he told Sherlock everything.

“I am in love with you, Sherlock!” His voiced rose with anger. He was half angry with himself for falling in love with Sherlock and half angry with Sherlock for being so damn irritable. “I am absolutely in love with you. I love everything about you and even when you get on my nerves, I still love you. I am _happy_  to make you tea or help you with a case because all I want is for _you_ to be happy. I’m sorry. I’ll pack my things tonight and be gone by morning.”

And for the first time since john had met him, Sherlock was speechless. He took a step back from john and looked as though he was concentrating very hard on something, but he didn’t loosen his grasp on johns arm.  Moments passed but they felt like years to john. Maybe Sherlock was considering it. No, no he mustn’t get his hopes up. His flatmate was probably just trying to think of a way to let him down easy.  It hit john that he might never see the man he loved again after tonight, so he took the opportunity to take in every one of Sherlock’s flawless features and commit them to memory. 

“John, you don’t have to leave. I-I don’t mind your company.” Sherlock spoke with a nervous, unsettled voice that was very unlike him.

“I’m not doing it for your convenience, Sherlock; I’m doing it for my own. I can’t be around you when I feel this way. I know nothing is going to happen and it’s just-” his pale blue eyes met the endlessly colorful of the taller man and he had to calm the flutter in his heart and the fire in his stomach.  “-it’s really painful.” What a terrible turn of events that this night had become. He could accept being attracted to Sherlock. He was fine with it for a whole two months.

“No that’s not what I meant.” Sherlock’s entire body went ridged and he looked around seeming lost in his own flat. “Could you come sit with me on the couch? I think we should talk.” John didn’t want to “talk” and he sure as hell didn’t want to have this rejection drawn out, but as he was about to protest, Sherlock silenced him with one word. “Please?”

And so John went to the couch. It’s not like he could help himself, he was a man in love.  He was just in love with the wrong person.  They both sat on opposite sides and John looked at Sherlock, waiting for him to speak.

“John, I, well what I mean to say is, I would be happy you have you here.” And John didn’t quite understand how that was different from the first thing Sherlock said, so Sherlock continued even more timidly. “John I… crave your company. I like to be around you. You do make me happy. You make me feel _human_ when the entire world tells me otherwise. I crave you when you are gone, I crave your approval, I crave you acceptance, I crave your admiration, but mostly I crave you.”

And then out of nowhere John’s lips were on Sherlock’s. He pulled the man tight against his body and clenched on to a fistful of those soft curls. Sherlock, being the fast learner that he was, started to move his lips in perfect reaction to Johns. Both men became frantic, pulling each other as close as they layers of clothes they wore would allow and John pushed himself on top of Sherlock. John was filled with the most intense passion he had felt in his life and he slid his lips down to nibble at Sherlock’s neck. His teeth gently bit down on the soft flesh where the long pale neck met the pale collarbone and was rewarded with an animalistic grown from Sherlock and hips grinding against his own.  The doctor pulled away to look at the gorgeous creature under him and met Sherlock’s eyes.  John had never seen Sherlock look at anybody with need the way he was now looking at him, and pride swelled in his chest before his lips went in search of Sherlock’s once again. They kissed happily for a few minutes before the strain in johns jeans became too much for him to bare. His arousal was to the point of extreme pain but he didn’t want to push Sherlock further than he was willing to go, so john climbed off of him and started walking toward the bath.

“I think I need a cold shower.” But Sherlock stood up at once and started pulling him the other direction. The direction of his bedroom.  John’s breath hitched in excitement as he entered Sherlock’s room.  He stripped of his jumper and started to undo the buttons of Sherlock’s purple shirt and kissed his way down Sherlock’s chest, then his stomach. He stopped there, kissing sensually at the skin just under Sherlock’s belly button.  Sherlock moaned and begged john to go further and John obliged willingly. He undid Sherlock’s trousers and yanked them and dark grey cotton pants down to a pair of lovely pale ankles. John took one long moment to appreciate the magnificence of Sherlock’s full arousal before shoving him on to the bed and fully removing the garments around his ankles. Sherlock twisted and thrusted, asking John silently to do what they both wanted to happen. So John did. He took Sherlock in his mouth and Sherlock gasped as he started to roll his tongue over the sensitive skin at the tip. He sucked Sherlock eagerly, hungrily. He loved the taste of the man he loved filling up his mouth and he became impossibly harder as Sherlock writhed under him. Sherlock was chanting John’s name, making it sound like a prayer and a curse all at the same time.

With a scream of pure ecstasy, Sherlock came and John drank it down greedily. Sherlock laid there, his breathing uneven and his limbs shivering as he soaked in the amazing feeling gifted to him by his dear, beloved John.  John, on the other hand, was yearning for some sort of release. He unzipped his jeans and pulled them down just enough so that he could grab ahold of himself. He was stroking and was hoping that Sherlock wouldn’t be offended by him self-pleasing next to him, but he couldn’t control the need. He had been filled with this blazing fire since his lips first met Sherlock’s and he needed some sort of relief. The friction was incredible but then a long fingered hand closed around his, making the friction stop. John groaned in pain. He hadn’t felt this much need since he was a teenager. When he looked up at Sherlock, the dark haired man had a very serious look on his face. It was almost aggressive, which turned John on even more. Now it was Sherlock’s turn to yank off trousers and pants and he did so swiftly.      

John hadn’t expected Sherlock to do what he had done next. He pushed john so that he lay on his back and pulled out a small bottle.  It was exactly what john thought it was and Sherlock coated himself his it before adding some to his fingers, and then a part of John that no other person had ever touched. John gasped and Sherlock stopped, feeling hesitant.  

“No, Sherlock, don’t stop I want it. I want to feel you.”

Sherlock slipped a finger in and John moaned continuously as Sherlock stretched him out, adding each new finger slowly and gingerly.

“Sherlock! NOW!” And then John felt Sherlock as he gently pushed himself inside of John.  Any pain that john would have felt was masked by the sheer pleasure that caused his spine to tingle. He cherished each slow, deliberate thrust that Sherlock gave him. Sherlock then grabbed on to Johns erection and pumped it in rhythm with his own pumping and John was going mad at the sensation.  Just as he was on edge, the  consulting detective brought his mouth to johns ear.

“I love you, too.” He said in his deep velvety voice and John was done for. He came all over the both of them and seeing Johns pleasure, Sherlock came as well. The two men stayed in that position for a bit longer, enjoying the feel of each other’s bodies. Sherlock got up after a bit to grab some tissues to clean up their mess, the climbed back in bed and cuddled up to John. They both spent that night, and every night from then on, wrapped in the arms of the man they loved.


End file.
